


Jeeves and the Mighty Tarpon

by triedunture



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Fishing, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-31
Updated: 2008-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:38:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a gift for <a href="http://fanfromfla.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://fanfromfla.livejournal.com/"><b>fanfromfla</b></a> who is lovely and, like me, a Floridian. She asked for Jeeves and Bertie on a FL fishing trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Mighty Tarpon

  


Title: Jeeves and the Mighty Tarpon  
Pairing: Jeeves & Wooster  
Rated: PG  
Length: 6000 words  
Warnings: Slight spoilers for canon's Jeeves and the Greasy Bird  
Summary: a gift for [](http://fanfromfla.livejournal.com/profile)[**fanfromfla**](http://fanfromfla.livejournal.com/) who is lovely and, like me, a Floridian. She asked for Jeeves and Bertie on a FL fishing trip.

<><><>

It was with a heavy heart and a damp shirt that I stepped onto the platform of the Treasure Coast Railway Station, mopping the sweat from my brow. The salty breeze did nothing to cool me, nor did the sight of the natives in their light linen suits soothe me. All along the dusty railway station, ladies walked by with parasols opened against the bright sunlight that beat down like a roasting pan fresh from the oven: heavy, searing, and not welcome on the back of the Wooster melon.

'Egad,' I panted into the pudding-like air. 'Is this honestly what they call January in this foul wilderness?'

'The southern clime of Florida is often disconcerting to those not accustomed to the moist heat, sir,' Jeeves said, keeping an eye on the porter with the heavy baggage. 'However, I find it invigorating after the crisp early winter of London.'

It was two weeks after Christmas, and I had promised Jeeves, who had recently saved the Wooster carcass from the deepest depths of the soup, that we would journey to Hobe Sound on the east coast of Florida for a holiday. The man's dearest wish was to land a tarpon (a sort of fish, I had been told), and this was the place to do it. Hobe Sound: dreadfully hot, dreadfully far from New York, and dreadfully devoid of stage shows, darts tournaments, and nightclubs.

We were borne to the local inn by a sort of taxicab service that looked suspiciously like the porter's jalopy. It bumbled along a long dirt road, jarring the kidneys at every pebble and rambling slowly past swaying palm trees and tall marsh grasses.

'Did it have to be Florida, Jeeves?' I asked, clutching my thriller novel to my chest, having given up the job of trying to read it in the jolting motorcar. 'We couldn't have gone to some other exotic locale? Norfolk, for instance?'

'I fear the tarpon is not indigenous to Norfolk, sir,' Jeeves said, then rallied. 'Perhaps you would find it interesting to note, sir, that the Hobe Sound area is in the process of being developed into a motion picture headquarters. Even now you can observe the workers along the road, paving the way for cobbled streets and picturesque lamp-posts in the Greek style.' Jeeves gestured to the gangs of strapping young lads, heaving to and fro in their shirtsleeves, carrying cords of lumber and tools in the roadside ditch. 'This town is slated to be the most fashionable holiday spot in the country in a few years' time.'

'So Hobe Sound will be the next Hollywood, then? Lots of stars flitting about, making films? I have to say, Jeeves, I just can't picture it for the life of me.'

'It would be an ideal location for such work, suitable for dressing as an exotic island or a continental town as the filming situation required.' Jeeves gazed out the window, and I could see him already spooling the reel in his mind. 'One hopes, sir, that the threat of the seasonal hurricane does not put a stop to such plans.'

'Yes,' I muttered, slapping a mosquito from my wrist. 'One hopes.' And I meant it to sting.

Whereas I was not in the best of moods, Jeeves seemed unperturbed by the heat, the rough road, and the buzzing insects. In fact, one might say he had looked rather pleased with himself, and had since we'd stepped onto the ocean liner bound for America some days before. The long railroad trip from New York down the eastern seaboard had only buoyed his spirits. By the time spindly pine trees had given way to brightly flowered vines and coco-nut trees outside the train window, he was practically beaming. To the ordinary eye, he may have appeared as straight-backed and stuffed-frog as only the best valets can, but there was a gleam in his baby blues that betrayed him to me, his long-standing employer.  
If Jeeves had ever been a young, bright-eyed school boy, happy to be on a class trip to the museum, I imagine this is what he'd look like.

He sniffed the air with satisfaction. 'Can you smell the sea, sir?' he asked with relish.

I took a deep whiff and pulled a face. 'Good heavens. It stinks of dead vermin.'

'That's just the seaweed,' the driver-stroke-porter called from the driver-stroke-porter's seat. 'Low tide, y'know. Big clumps of it get stranded on the beach and it bakes in the sun. You get used to it.'

'Charming.' I smiled tightly at the rear-view and scowled at my manservant only when the driver returned his eyes to the road and the coast was clear.

'What I don't quite grasp,' I said in a whisper, 'is why the young master had to accompany you on this folly. I belong in London or New York among the paved streets and majestic buildings, not on the beach, farming decayed seaweed.'

'I thought you would appreciate a change from the harsh winter, sir,' Jeeves said blandly. 'A young gentleman such as yourself would greatly benefit from a dose of world travel. In addition, the future notoriety of the spot might garner no small amount of respect from your acquaintances.' He raised his brow meaningfully, and I sulked a bit in retaliation.

Our car came to a stop in front of a ramshackle plantation-style house. 'What-ho?' I called to the driver, who was exiting the vehicle. 'Have we got a flat tyre or something?'

'Y'all said the Conch Inn, right?' the driver asked. I nodded dumbly at him. 'Well, this is the Conch.' He indicated the unfortunate building with a wave of his hand.

'Oh, my word,' I said, poking my head out the window, turtle-like. The wooden two-storey might have been grand at some time in the distant past, but its island green paint was now peeling from the veranda and clapboard facade. The stone walkway leading from the road winded through overgrown shrubbery and twisted fruit trees which had scattered their bounty to the ground to rot. A faded sign above the door bore a pink picture of its namesake, a sort of oceanic shell curled into a horn.

'Jeeves, is this really where we're to stay?' I asked out of the corner of my mouth, not wishing to offend the porter.

'Accommodations in the vicinity are rustic, sir.' He quirked his lips. 'I'm sure the rooms will be well-appointed inside the establishment.'

Our bags and our sorry selves were bunged into the place, where we endeavoured to check in according to our reservations. However, the ancient woman at the desk was, in effect, quite deaf. That, coupled with her seemingly natural disinclination to speak proper English, resulted in a scramble of confusion.

'Rooms!' I cried. I had hauled myself halfway across the check-in desk, knocking over her little tin bell and several stacks of picture cards that featured the scripted phrase 'Wish you were here' along the front. 'We've come to take two rooms!'

'Over my dead body, you'll take rooms away from me,' she hissed. She brandished an umbrella. 'Go to hell, ya limey--'

'Grandma!' A flustered girl about my age fluttered down the hallway, her light cotton dress all in a tizzy. 'They're here as _guests_.'

'Eh?' The crone pouted at me. 'You sure they ain't villainous highwaymen?'

'I assure you, madam,' Jeeves said, tipping the bowler, 'the only thing we wish to steal from your pleasant township is the big game fish.'

'Y'all're the gentlemen from England?' The girl turned a rosy hue under her deep tan. 'I'm Charlotte. You just holler for me if you need anything.' She dangled a few keys in front of my nose. Her large green eyes regarded me like one would a choice steak fresh from my Aunt Dahilia's cook. 'The Blue Room and the White Room are yours,' she said with a bat or two or said eyes. Miss Charlotte placed the keys in my hand, her fingers lingering on my wrist many more seconds than was absolutely proper.

'Er, yes. Upstairs, what?' And with Jeeves and the baggage in tow, I took the steps two at a time. I claimed the White while Jeeves took the Blue.

Jeeves had been correct about the accommodations being up to snuff. The room contained all the requisite furnishings, and it was decorated with a light, easy hand, if not a very modern one. But it was all certainly cosy, I thought as I tested the mattress while Jeeves unpacked my things and set them up in their new home.

'Will you be joining me tomorrow morning on the fishing excursion, sir?' Jeeves asked before he departed to his own quarters across the hall. He looked almost hopeful. 'I will be taking a rented skiff out for the day. The weather should prove most enjoyable. It would be a pleasure to have you along, sir, if you have no other business to attend to.'

'Oh, no, Jeeves. Woosters aren't the fishing type,' I demurred.

There was the subtle flash of disappointment on Jeeves' face, which I chalked up to his failed new hobby of moulding the young master into a world traveller and sportsman. 'Very good, sir,' he said, and bid me a good night before sliding off into his room.

I spent the night flopping about in my too-warm bed, wrapped in suffocating bed linens. The insect situation worsened as the moon rose, and rummy twitters came from all corners of the room. I covered my assaulted ears with the pillow, but when the heat became too unbearable, I was forced to resurface, and the cycle continued.

Consequently, my peepers didn't get so much as five of the forty winks that night, and when Jeeves floated into my room on caster-wheeled feet at the crack of dawn, I was still awake. Eyes bloodshot and hair askew, yes, but still awake.

'I've come to see if you need anything before I embark, sir,' he said in his whisper-quiet morning voice, the one he uses when I've had a particularly late night and am sensitive to loud noises. 'Would you like your customary morning tea?'

I groaned and shifted my head to blink up at him. Jeeves had donned an unusual ensemble. Well, it wasn't so unusual in that I'm sure many people wear such things. But on Jeeves, this set of clothes really took the biscuit.

They were, in order of appearance: a pair of worn trousers (not frayed or patched or anything, but not sharply pressed either), a thin soft-fronted shirt with the collar undone at the throat (with sleeves rolled up to elbows, if you can credit it), black braces crossing over Jeeves' wide shoulders (not hidden by any sort of waistcoat), and some scuffed (take note, I did say scuffed!) loafers. There was no necktie to speak of, no suit coat or exquisitely fitted pinstripes.

'Jeeves!' I cried. 'You look like a workman!'

Jeeves cast his eyes down at himself, reviewing his own form. 'One cannot expect to catch the big game fish while wearing white tie, sir,' he said. 'These clothes are my usual raiment during shrimping and fishing trips. I apologise if my less-than-professional appearance offends your sensibilities, sir.'

'No, no, Jeeves. My sensibilities aren't offended, just shocked into jumping from their armchairs.' I waved him off and allowed my face to face back into the pillow. 'It's too early for tea, old thing. Have a good time and all that,' I muffled into the stuffing.

'Very good, sir,' Jeeves said, and I heard the door click shut behind him.

I dozed for only the very briefest of moments when I heard the bally portal creak open once more. 'Jeeves,' I moaned, 'really, go ahead and fish. I don't need--'

'It's me, Mister Whooster,' the young lady innkeeper, Miss Charlotte, said. I peered up at her to find her holding a cheery looking breakfast tray. 'I thought you might like something to eat.'

'Oh, rather.' I motioned to the bedside table and she clinked the lot of it down. Though it seemed unusual to me to have females scampering about the bedroom with me not even shoved into my dressing gown, the Code of the Woosters dictated that I accept this bizarre hospitality from my American cousin. I readied the shaky morning tum and cast my eyes over the offerings.

My face didn't fall; it stumbled clean down the stairs. 'What's all this?' I asked with a trepidation not befitting a family that had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with William the Conqueror on the fields of battle.

'That's grits there.' Miss Charlotte pointed to the lumps of grainy paste helpfully. 'I didn't know if you liked them with butter or honey, so I put on both.'

'Fantastic.' I swallowed audibly.

'And that there's some biscuits and gravy,' she pointed to some more beige lumps, this time with a sort of thick sauce, 'along with some bacon and orange juice.'

Well, at least the o.j. and b. looked familiar enough. I tucked into the few paltry strips of bacon and tried not to get too much gravy involved in the thing. Miss Charlotte watched me like a hawk, her eyes expectant and gooey.

'Very tasty,' I managed, gnawing on foodstuffs which weren't nearly as crisp as Jeeves managed to get them.

'Since your friend has gone down to the docks and left you here,' Miss Charlotte said in an off-hand way, leaning against the washstand, 'I figured maybe you might wanna take a walk with me. There's a lake just a way's from here that's...'

I didn't hear her finish. The b. dropped from my nerveless fingers back onto the plate. This wasn't breakfast. This was a bally sneak attack! The dratted beazel had lain in wait to get me cornered on my lonesome and now she was making her gambit for the hand of this Wooster. I mean to say, can't a man travel halfway across the map without fear of running into a blasted filly that wants to clap him in leg-irons?

The light of love was in her eyes, and I had need for an improvised escape.

'O-oh, good Lord!' I cried in a stuttering fashion. 'Has Jeeves left for the boat already? I must have overslept. I meant to accompany him, learn all about the fishes, what?' I pushed the tray aside and flitted between leaping from the bed and staying put where my modesty would be safe. 'Erm, don't suppose you could toddle off so I could shove on the trousers and socks?'

'Oh.' She pouted. 'Okay, then.'

She left, and I legged it. After dressing myself, of course. Wouldn't do to run down to the marina wearing just my striped pyjamas. I caught sight of Jeeves hovering near a small skiff on the end of a wooden dock. He was messing about with some rope, coiling it into a circle in his hands. A cigarette stuck out jauntily from the corner of his mouth.

'What-ho!' I cried. 'Jolly good. I haven't missed the boat.'

Jeeves regarded me strangely while his hand came up to free the cig. from his lips. 'I was under the impression, sir, that you did not wish to join me this morning,' he said.

'Faced with the choice of the roaring ocean and the lovesick girl, I will choose the ocean every time.' I nodded firmly. 'Come, Jeeves. Let's shove off before that awful Miss Charlotte tries to make me eat a cake of laundry soap or some such rot.'

'As you say, sir.'

I don't know if you know much about boats? I certainly did not, but I have gleaned this much from Jeeves' wealth of knowledge: A boat has a bow at the front, a stern at the back, a dippy bit near that where fellows can sit called the cockpit, a flat bit where fellows can walk called the deck, and a steering wheel that's sometimes more like a steering stick, also called a tiller. Beyond that, Bertram is an aquatic lost cause. I don't know my port from my starboard, is what I mean to say.

I endeavoured to lend a hand, but Jeeves had the gist of the thing well underway and within the space of a few minutes we were seated in the cockpit of the small boat. I watched the shrinking shoreline while Jeeves hoisted the small sails and, tiller in hand, propelled us smoothly out to sea. The water turned from clear to green to blue, and I lost sight of the bottom with its clumps of waving sea-grass and black blots of starfish.

'I will say this,' I shouted above the wind whipping past my mouth as we skipped along the tops of the waves, 'this is much more pleasant than I imagined, Jeeves.'

Jeeves lit himself another cigarette and took a deep breath of it. 'Yes, sir. I find the activity very relaxing. There is something about the salt air and the sun.'

I watched him sail, feeling a pleased grin steal across my map. I had seen Jeeves in many strange jams in our time together. One week might have him in a red moustache, pretending to be a Scotland Yard investigator, and the next might have him in a tweed skirt, impersonating a female novelist. But I had never seen Jeeves as out of uniform as this: tanned, hatless and hair tousled, sleeves rolled carelessly, braces unhidden by a waistcoat and jacket. He cut a rather dashing figure.

I lounged against the warm wood of the boat and let the rocking of the ocean, unfamiliar and yet calming, lull me into a sort of trance. My eyes slipped shut against the blinding sun and I slept.

I woke to a lack of wind. The whistling past my ears had ceased, and I roused to find our little boat with its sails folded. I heard the splash of the anchor and saw Jeeves turn to fiddle with his rod and reel on the deck.

'This is where the tarpon will congregate, what?' I looked round the empty expanse of rolling water. In the distance, I could make out the faint green haze of the shore. Otherwise, we were entirely alone in the ocean. 'I suppose they like the quiet,' I observed.

'The tarpon schools migrate, sir,' Jeeves remarked, still stringing his fishing pole to his liking. 'The gulf straits allow them speedy passage. Unfortunately this is not their peak season, but the men at the dockyard tell me some might still be had at this early date if one is careful and patient.'

I thought that sounded a bit like life. 'I say, Jeeves, does that sound a bit like life to you?' I squinted over at him.

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. 'Undoubtedly, sir.'

Jeeves cast his line, and it went whizzing through the air to plunk down some yards distant from us in the water. I watched with eagerness.

'What do we do now?'

'We wait, sir.' Jeeves placed the rod in a metal holding cup that had been bolted to the deck and reached into his trouser pocket for his cigarette case. I'm certain I could count the number of cigarettes I've seen Jeeves consume on one hand, but now he seemed to be puffing like a dickens. Perhaps the sport of fishing required a thoughtful cig. or two to be effective.

We waited. I remained seated, but Jeeves strode up and down the rocking deck like a true Viking. He checked the line once in awhile, but more often just smoked and stared off at the horizon, seemingly deep in a daydream. After about a quarter of an hour, I piped up, 'Is there anything to be done now?'

'No, sir,' Jeeves intoned, 'merely more waiting.'

I hung on for another twenty ticks of the long hand.

'Jeeves,' I finally declared, 'this fishing of yours is a sorry business. I can't see anything redeeming about it.'

'It is an exquisite day, sir,' he said, taking his gasper from his lips to speak to me. 'One could enjoy the natural beauty of the scene.'

'I finished with that ten minutes ago.' I craned my neck, looking at the water that stretched out in all directions. 'I could have gotten about the same experience in a very deep bath.'

'Indeed, sir?'

'I just don't see your reasoning, Jeeves. Why did you need to bung me in the cruise liner along with your tackle-box?'

Jeeves gazed down into the blue water. 'Leaving you in London alone would have left you vulnerable to any number of aunts, friends, and ladies who desired your help with one matter or another, sir. A short holiday here will benefit both of us.'

I stood up, mindful of the swaying deck under my shoes. 'But why stay here when we could be safely at home, you in your lair and me practising for the annual darts tournament as I should be?'

Jeeves flicked his cig. into the choppy waves and turned to me, his hands in his trouser pockets, his posture one of nautical ease. 'One cannot be expected to stay inside a lair, as you call it, sir, for fifty weeks out of the year. Do you never crave the sun on your face, sir? Or the wind at your back?'

'I crave a brandy-and-soda every so often, but otherwise I am content with the metrop.' I chewed at my lower lip. 'Do you mean to say, Jeeves, that this is your natural state? That I am seeing the Jeeves in his wild habitat? Do you...despise London? Can you not stand for New York?' A bolt of panic shot through my veins. I had employed Jeeves for so many years that I had become comfortable with the assumption that he stuck with me because he preferred it to other posts. He's the best valet in the country, after all. The world, even. If he truly wished to leave the city and Bertram behind, he could surely find a master in the country, living next to some body of water where the fish were plentiful.

'The landscape of the city appeals to my love of culture and society. However, there are times when I feel the need to escape to a place like this.' He lifted his dark eyes to mine and said, 'I tell you this because you understand me, sir, more than any other employer could.'

His eyes flashed so brilliantly, or perhaps it was the sun, but I felt very light-headed. 'Well, I mean to say, of course even valets need to throw off the morning coat and tie once or twice a year,' I stammered. 'My brain can comprehend that you're a man like any other, Jeeves. Well, not like _any_ other. But valets bleed when pricked and so on.'

Jeeves looked down at the toes of his scuffed shoes. 'Aptly put, sir.'

'I only wish to know, Jeeves,' I fidgeted, lacing and unlacing my fingers, 'are you happy with the current posish? Do you...desire any drastic change?'

'Well, sir...'

My heart sank. Jeeves was about to give me his resignation. Why he would chose to do it in the middle of the ocean was beyond me; it would make things dashed awkward, what? But I steeled the Wooster spirit for the blow. If Jeeves was going to leave me to pursue his true dreams, whether it be fishing or shrimping or merely stretching out on the sand, I couldn't stand in his way.

Suddenly, I heard a buzzing noise out of the corner of my ear. Thinking it was another bally mosquito, I spun to swat at it but instead found the fishing line flying from the reel.

'Jeeves!' I shouted. 'You've caught something!'

Because of our pacing about the boat, I was the closer one to the fishing rod, and I made a dive for it. Not a moment too soon, either: the reel came to its last inch of fishing line and snapped taut. The pole jerked from its holder and the only thing keeping it from taking a swim in the Atlantic was my shaky grip.

'Sir!'

'I've got it!'

Except the fish rather had me instead. My arms were nearly ripped from their sockets as a force as strong as ten men pulled me forward. I held on tight, but yelped in distress; I was being yanked overboard. My toes tottered on the edge of the boat.

I had resigned myself to a watery grave when I felt a pair of cast-iron arms wrap round me. Jeeves' hands joined mine on the fishing rod, his steam-engine breath in my ear. The fish gave another wild thrash and we both pulled back in answer.

'Don't let go of me, Jeeves,' I gritted through my teeth.

'I--' Whatever Jeeves' answer was to be was cut off by the tarpon, which broke through the surface of the waves and leapt high in the air. The hook was pierced clean through its lip, and its gigantic body, as tall as me and just as thick, twisted to form an angry U before plunging back into the ocean.

The fish heaved, and we hoed. My palms, slick with sweat, threatened to slip from the pole.

'I can't swim,' I hissed. 'Dash it, Jeeves, if I fall--'

'I'm here, sir,' was all Jeeves could manage before the mighty tarpon gave another powerful burst of energy. Jeeves' arms clamped down on my flanks, his chest flush against my back. I could feel his straining heart and lungs through my shirt.

'How long does this usually take?' I gasped.

'It will be hours, sir, before the fish has exhausted itself,' Jeeves puffed against my neck.

'Hours!?'

'Hold on, sir.' The fish gave another jump into the air, spraying us with droplets of seawater. It stung my eyes, but I kept my grip firmly on the fishing rod and leaned back into Jeeves' body, hauling away at the burden on the end of the line.

'This had better be a tasty dinner for you, Jeeves,' I grunted.

'Actually, sir, the tarpon is fished only for sport. They make for poor eating.'

'Are you pulling my leg?'

'It is the bony structure of the animal, sir, which prohibits humans from consuming them.'

'Then what will you do with the blasted thing once this is over!?'

'Most fishermen mount their catches, sir.' Jeeves tightened his grip on me as a particularly violent thrash jolted through the line. 'I have no doubt this specimen will be a record of some kind.'

'Of all the ridiculous--' But I couldn't continue my tirade. Our quarry made another break for freedom, and Jeeves and I fought it tooth and nail. I panted for breath. Sweat was dripping down my face, and I felt beads of moisture slide down Jeeves' straining arms as well.

'Sir, you do not have to continue. This is my fight,' Jeeves said after a moment of futile pulling. 'If I move my arm slightly, I believe you can slip free.'

'I'm not leaving you to face this beast alone!' I cried. 'He nearly took my arm off. No, Jeeves, this is no ordinary fish. And if you intend to...what's the baby? Dirt? Earth?'

'Land, sir?'

'Yes! If you intend to land a monster such as this, then I will lend whatever assistance I can.'

Jeeves must have tired for a moment, because his forehead briefly touched my shoulder. 'Thank you, sir.'

We did battle with the tarpon for several long minutes. The sun climbed the sky and burned at our exposed forearms, but still we held on. The fish seemed to calm at times only to resume its thrashing with more strength than before. During a lull in the action when Jeeves and I tried to catch our collective breath, I ventured, 'I understand what you were getting at before, Jeeves. About being only human and needing to escape periodically.'

'You do, sir?'

'Yes.' I groped for purchase as the fish gave another fierce whip of its tail. 'I won't lie, Jeeves. The idea frightens me.'

Jeeves' hands faltered, nearly losing their grip on the pole. It was only a jerk from the tarpon and a helpless gasp from yours truly that forced him back into formation. 'Sir?' he finally asked.

'I suppose I knew it was coming sooner or later, but dash it, Jeeves. I rather hoped it would be later.'

We were so close, I could feel his eyelashes flutter against my ear as he blinked. 'I see, sir,' he said softly.

'I just don't know how I'll get on without you,' I sighed.

'Without me, sir?'

'When you leave,' I clarified. 'I don't know what will become of me. I'll hire another valet, yes, but he won't be in the same league as you, Jeeves.'

Jeeves was still and silent. I forged ahead blindly. I was almost glad we weren't facing each other, because I wasn't altogether certain I could have hidden the hurt in my eyes from him.

'That is to say, if there was some way to entice you to stay, Jeeves, just say the word. A heftier salary, a longer annual vacation...'

'Sir.' Jeeves tightened his hold on me though the fish was suspiciously quiet at the moment. 'Do you not wish for me to leave your employ?'

'Of course not.' I tipped my head back against his sternum to stare up into his dark, inquisitive eyes. 'But you must do what you must. I won't stop you, Jeeves, if you want to move on to greener pastures.'

Jeeves lips parted slowly. 'There's been a mistake, sir,' he said.

The Wooster brow furrowed. 'Oh?'

'I--'

And just then, the tarpon gave such a jerk that both Jeeves and I were almost thrown off our feet. We dug in and pulled in retaliation, groaning with the exertion. The fish thrashed; Jeeves worked the crank on the reel. Suddenly, the sea serpent was abreast the boat, just under the surface. It glittered like silver in the sunshine, and when it turned on its side, it stared up at me with its black bead of an eye.

It was frightfully wonderful. Like a dragon living among men. Bigger and grander than anything I'd seen before.

'Jeeves,' I whispered, 'do you mean to kill this thing?'

'Sir?'

'I assume that it has to kick the bucket before it's stuffed and mounted.'

'That is the usual process, sir.'

'I...' I gazed down at the fish, both of us too exhausted to fight for the time being. I could see its muscles ached like mine ached, if you can credit such a look on its fish-face. I shook my head at the strange sensation of communing with nature in such a fashion.

'Are you well, sir?' Jeeves asked. One of his hands dared leave the pole to press against my forehead, which I knew was burning up from the heat of the day and the strain of our battle.

'Jeeves, I know you've caught it,' I said. 'You'll think me loony, but wouldn't it be enough that I knew? Do you really need to...to...?'

I sighed, my shoulders slumping forward, away from Jeeves' chest. I just couldn't find the words to say what I meant.

However, Jeeves always knows what I mean to say. He gently released his death grip on the fishing pole, making certain that the fish wasn't going to pull Bertram into the drink first. He produced a penknife from his trouser pocket and caught the thick fishing line in his fist.

'No, sir,' he said. 'I do not.'

And he sliced the line.

I hadn't been prepared for the thing, and the sudden cessation of tension threw me completely backwards. Luckily Jeeves was there to catch me, and we hit the deck with no small amount of force. I recovered the wind in my lungs fast enough to sit up and watch the shiny shape of our tarpon gliding away through the waves, swimming deeper and further until it disappeared. Then, totally spent, I flopped on my back next to Jeeves.

'Thank you, Jeeves,' I said, closing my eyes.

Jeeves grasped my hand and squeezed it in reply. I cracked an eye open to regard his stoic map. Despite our recent closeness, it felt odd to be holding Jeeves' hand. As my valet, he was always so careful to keep every touch professional and brief. This was downright friendly. Cosy, even. I squeezed back.

After a moment of companionable silence, Jeeves said, 'Catching a tarpon, sir, has been an ambition of mine for years. Yet I have another dream that is more dear than a fish could ever be.'

'Oh, Jeeves,' I groaned, 'don't tell me you wish to go on safari. I don't think I could survive it if you set your sights on an elephant or a tiger.'

'I refer to another matter entirely, sir, I assure you.' Jeeves leaned over and brushed his dry lips over my cheek. I blinked up at him. 'I do not intend to leave your employ, sir, unless you wish it. The subject I was attempting to broach earlier was, as you can now see, more personal.'

'I say,' I whispered.

'It was my belief that a holiday away from home would give me the opportunity to approach you with my...sir, I have feelings that--' Jeeves pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes closed.

Though I almost never know what Jeeves means when he speaks, I knew now what he meant even though he didn't say another word. I surged upwards and kissed him properly on the mouth without a moment's hesitation. It may have taken Jeeves years to puzzle out the entire wheeze, but I was willing to follow his lead now that his brain had done all the heavy lifting. Of course it only made sense, I thought as my lips caressed his. This was the man who fed me, dressed me, kept me warm and safe and _loved_ me. This was my man, and he always would be.

'It's all returned in spades,' I told him when we finally parted for air.

'Thank you, sir,' he said, looking at me hungrily with those shining eyes. I pulled him to me and felt his strong arms wrap round me like before, except now we could exhaust ourselves at another sort of sport, one that I believed would be infinitely more enjoyable and wouldn't end with anything being carted off to the taxidermist.

'Jeeves,' I sighed as he lapped at my sunburnt neck, 'do you suppose some tropical storm will breeze through here soon and force us to take shelter on some desert island, far from prying eyes?'

'Unlikely, sir. It is still the dry season in the region.' He bit lightly on my earlobe.

'Well, one can always hope for a hurricane, Jeeves,' I said, and applied myself to learning more about his collarbone.

 

 

fin. (get it?)  


[Download the podfic here.](http://drop.io/cdkgglc)


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